The Inquisition
by wp1fan
Summary: "We've got to find her." "You won't have to look far." Post-Always. Chapter 4 up now. Now M-Rated.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Again with the randomness. That's how I roll.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not fair.  
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"Bro! Open up!"

Castle rubs his eyes and shuffles his sleepy form to the door, hurries as the urgent knocking now has a voice behind it.

"Castle!"

"I'm here, I'm here," he says as he opens the door. He runs a hand through his hair, can feel it sticking up every which way, even as his fingers attempt to smooth it down.

Lanie pushes through first and Esposito follows, not much further behind. Both of them look slightly panicked, probably feeding off one another. Hell, he's beginning to freak out a little just watching them.

"We can't find Kate," Lanie explains.

_Oh._

"She resigned last night," Esposito adds. Castle knows this and nods, but they're both looking straight through him, making no connection. Kate told him of her resignation last night-sometime between unbuckling his belt and pulling him to his mattress. She wouldn't elaborate, but seemed okay with it. More okay than he was. She said she'd explain more today. He was in no position to argue at the time.

"She—"

"We might need resources, Castle. She's not at her apartment. She's not answering her phone. Don't you have bodyguards or spies or something we can use to track her down?"

"Spies?" He can't help his amusement, though it feels out of place amidst the seriousness. "You've been reading too many of my books, Lanie."

She looks like she may slap him. He's pretty sure Lanie would pack a good punch. "Don't flatter yourself. I think you're underestimating the urgency of this. Javi said she nearly died." Castle flinches at that; it sounds even worse being confirmed by someone else.

Esposito agrees. "She was relentless. Unstoppable. She could be anywhere in this town, Bro. She's chasing down something really dangerous. We've got to find her."

"You won't have to look far."

She's standing in the doorway leading to his study, framed by his bookcases and it's too many fantasies all wrapped into one vision. God, she's gorgeous. Her voice is still rough with sleep, and he wants nothing more than to show Lanie and Esposito the door (_"See, she's fine. Come back later. Call first.")_, drag her back to his bed, and replace the obligatory awkward morning-after conversation with well…other things.

"Man, Beckett, thank God you're okay," Esposito breathes out, with Lanie nodding by his side, momentarily overcome with emotion.

"Girl, we were worried sick. We've been trying to hunt you down, looking everywhere." She swipes quickly at her eyes. "We even called your dad. We were desperate and—is that Castle's shirt?" Lanie quickly goes from alarmed to animated, gleaming at her discovery. He can see Esposito's face screw up in amusing revulsion.

The only thing potentially more awkward than having the morning-after-your-first-time conversation, is having to have it amongst friends.

But, geez, his shirt looks good on her. A pair of his boxers are peeking from beneath the button down and his stomach clenches in all sorts of delicious ways. They made love last night. And he really really wants to do it again. Soon-ish.

The M.E.'s wide-eyed gaze is volleying back and forth between him and Kate, and he looks down at his bare chest and plaid lounge pants and suddenly feels a little self-conscious under Lanie's scrutiny. At least Esposito has the courtesy to keep his mouth shut and head down. Smart man.

"You called my dad?" Kate sighs, more concerned than upset, completely leap-frogging the latest, more fascinating discovery of her friend.

"I'm sorry, honey. I told him not to worry, that we were sure everything was fine. We said we'd let him know when we found you."

"Done." Esposito wiggles the phone in his palm, indicating that he'd texted her father the all-okay.

"That _is_ Castle's shirt." Lanie has her own phone in her hand and flashes up a picture of him (in his maroon dress shirt), his mother, and Alexis from her graduation. "Looks suspiciously like the one you wore last night," she flicks her brows and eyes him suggestively. His face feels heated, his blush a sure incrimination. "Little Castle texted me some pics. Said you may or may not have cried like a little girl."

"My tears were manly."

"No such thing, Bro." Ah, so much for keeping his mouth shut. Castle smirks, doesn't care. He cried at his baby's graduation. So, what? He also welled up some big, fat tears while arguing with Kate earlier that day. And he may have also been a little teary-eyed when he first joined his body with hers. Okay, maybe he does cry like a little girl…

"That's not what you said at Ryan's wedding, Javi." Kate jests, comes to his defense as she walks further into the room and stops at his side. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but it looks like she wants to touch him.

"For some strange reason, we keep stepping away from the fact that the two of you," Lanie waves her hand back and forth, up and down, "are half-naked."

"She's not half naked." He can't help it, he has to point it out. He _wishes_ she was half-naked. Well, without the present company.

"It doesn't count if she's wearing _your_ clothes. Especially if it's before sunrise."

"You're making up your own rules."

"You're avoiding the question."

"I don't think you asked one."

Kate is laughing at them, and it's completely beautiful, but unexpected. He thought she'd be a little more uncomfortable at being outed as…what? His _lover? Girlfriend? _ Ugh. He hates those terms. If he wasn't sure she'd shoot him, he'd go ahead and make it official, skip the formalities. _Fiancée _has a nice ring to it_. Wife_ is even better. Surprisingly, even though he's had two previously, this is the first time he's thought of that word without negative connotation.

Now, he and Lanie are basically arguing the semantics of how what he and Kate are wearing is directly related to why she's in his loft at six in the morning. She's being surprisingly indirect right now, but his spidy-sense tells him that the sex inquiries are coming soon. Kate is looking astonishingly unaffected by this conversation and he's totally taking advantage of that and letting her handle it.

"Anyone want breakfast?"

"Pancakes?" Esposito asks brazenly, bearing a wide grin. Castle glares at the private joke, his eyes begging Esposito to zip it. She seems fine now, but if one of these two spooks Kate out of his loft this morning, there will be hell to pay.

"Omelets?"

"That sounds good," Kate agrees softly and skims her fingers along the elastic at the back of his pants, hooks two just inside. He meets her eyes (_dangerous plan_) and she's got that same '_why aren't you kissing me'_ expression that her face held last night. He doesn't know what kind of self-control she thinks he possesses, but surely she can't forget what transpired when she flashed him that same look last night. He blinks hard and looks away with a step towards the kitchen.

"Your order, Dr. Parish?" He points to Lanie, then gestures as if he's scribbling her order onto a waiter's tablet.

"Anything is fine with me." Then she puts up her palm, indicating for him to stop. "_Anything_ is such a broad term with you. Normal ingredients. None of that crazy stuff that you feed your kid. She tells stories."

"You wound me." He touches his palm to his heart and sucks in a deep breath, channeling his mother's over-the-top acting. "Espo?"

"Take him with you." Lanie shoos them towards the kitchen and pulls Kate over to the sofa.

"Kate?"

She gives him one of those disarming smiles and he's toast.

"You know what I like."

He hears Lanie say _"Oh, I bet he does"_ and Kate chokes a little, then Esposito spits out an _"Ugh"_ before pushing him between the shoulder blades and out of the room.

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"Soooo?"

"Huh?" Kate turns back towards Lanie. Sometime in the process of sitting on the sofa and turning her body sideways so she could still watch Castle in the kitchen, she's lost sight of him. Esposito is cracking eggs into a bowl, but Rick is nowhere.

"He probably went to get decent." Kate pretends like she isn't stalking him, but it's no use with Lanie, so she just nods. Makes sense; though him _adding_ clothing to his body wasn't what she figured they'd be doing right about now. Sure enough, the man on her mind wanders back through the room, jerking a navy tee shirt over his head. He tells Esposito to use the whole dozen, then their conversation muffles a bit and she gives her attention back to her friend.

"So, you and Esposito seem friendly."

"Oh, no you don't. We are _not_ talking about me, girlfriend. We're talking about you and him," she wags her finger in the Castle's direction, "and the way you're eye-sexing all over the place."

"Eye-sexing?" She laughs, can't help it. It's so good to have a friend that won't let you take anything too seriously.

"Uh huh. All that undressing each other mentally. You've been doing it for years, but this is the first time I've seen it actually look like you're about a second away from dragging each other to the nearest flat surface and—"

"Lanie!" She's loud enough to draw the attention of the men in the kitchen and she waves them off to continue cooking. Castle's smirking at her as if he knows exactly the topic of this interrogation.

"Like that," Lanie whispers, leaning into her personal space. She breaks her eye contact with Castle begrudgingly. "People only look at each other like that if they know exactly what they're missing. So, it was good, I take it?"

"I am _not_ answering that."

"Silence is more incriminating."

"Yes, it was good," Kate sighs. "Very good." Not having this conversation now is delaying the inevitable. And, really, what is there to hide? She's just more used to talking about lack-of-relationships or relationship _issues _with Lanie, not squeeing like a teenager because the cute boy likes her back. "We only…just once last night. I might have been expecting bumbling and awkward just because we've been sidestepping this for so long, but it was perfect."

"I knew it. All those imaginative ideas swirling around in his brain…"

"I'm a little disturbed that you've put this much thought into my love life."

"Well, I had to have something to occupy my time while there was a break in my own love life."

"_Had_? _Was_? Is that implication that the break is over?" God, Kate hopes so. Both of them have been grumpy and pouty since they split almost six months ago.

"You're _good_. Nice catch. Javi and I have decided not to put a label on it yet. We're just having fun again. We had a pretty serious talk last night about all of that stuff we never discussed the first time around. It was nice. Interesting at times, but nice."

"Sounds like it. I'm happy for you both." She squeezes Lanie's hand, and gets pulled into an embrace in return.

"Me too. For you and Castle. You're glowing, Kate. Do you know that?" She purses her lips and shrugs. Yeah, she can feel a difference. "And with all the shit going on right now, you have every reason _not_ to be. Hot sex can give you this kind of radiance for a little while, but I think you're going to have to admit that _love_ might have its hand in here."

"Alright, enough with the mushy talk." Some of this sentimental stuff is tricky to discuss, really, especially when she and Castle haven't even had the opportunity to bring it up.

"So, have you and Castle had _the_ talk yet? If not, I've been doing research on these _'Questions to Ask Before Getting Serious'_." Kate snickers, and then realizes that Lanie isn't joking. Well, then. "Those are what I pulled out on Javi last night while we were waiting to hear from you. It was fun."

Kate rises from the couch and stretches with a yawn. "We haven't—"

"What's fun?" She turns, collides into Castle and his large hands span her waist to steady her, and her own end up sprawled across his chest. Instead of pulling back, she finds herself stepping into his personal space and bumping her hips into his. Her mind flashes back to last night, how those same hands and hips worked over her body and left her breathless. "Sorry I interrupted," his voice is thick with want, and her traitorous brain is coming up empty on valid excuses to leave the room together. "I was being nosy." He grins, all boyish innocence and manly intentions. "But, also, breakfast is ready."

"Oh, honey, you weren't interrupting," Lanie whispers in his ear as she loops her arm through his and pulls him away from Kate, leaving him looking back, smiling at her helplessly. "You missed all the good stuff already."

"Did I, now?" He chuckles, a deep sound that slides beneath her skin and pricks at her nerve endings. "How good?"

"That's what I was trying to find out."

It's entertaining to watch Castle go speechless, having met his match in Lanie. Kate meets his eyes across his dining table and _you've got to be kidding me_, he looks like he's really curious as to whether she thought last night was enjoyable. Surely he could tell that she was satisfied. Hell, she's never considered herself vocal intimately, but last night she was relieved that they were alone in his loft.

"Chica," Esposito warns as he bites into his omelet, "mind your own business."

"My best friend _is_ my business."

"Mine too," Castle adds. It makes her heart thump heavily in her chest.

"I need to know that your intentions are pure." She says it seriously, but a smile is sneaking though.

"What about _her_ intentions?"

Oh, she almost felt sorry for Castle. Let Lanie give him hell. "Mine?"

"Oh, you two so need _the questions_." Lanie tells her, pulls out her phone and starts typing into it. "I can pull them up."

"What questions?" Castle asks, curiosity overtaking him.

"Don't do it, dude."

"You hush," Lanie threatens.

"It's a trap, Castle." Esposito scoots his chair a little closer to Castle's, stares at him somberly. "There are no right answers to these questions. Say no."

"I thought you said you asked them to him last night," Kate adds, pointing to Esposito, amused.

Lanie starts to answer, but the detective interjects. "She didn't just _ask_. It was an inquisition."

"I'm not scared." Castle rubs his hands together, bounces in his chair a little. "Let's do this."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The questions I used in this chapter have been stolen, borrowed, and pieced-together from a multitude of websites. Interesting stuff.**

**Could use some more prayers for my mom. Thanks, guys.  
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**I'll jump on the Happy Birthday, AC bandwagon! I hope you have a wonderful one. :-)  
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**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

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"Hit me." He's totally ready. How bad can this be? He can prove his intentions to Kate's friend (he always thought of Lanie as a mutual friend, but she's looking like she wants to eat him alive, so he's not sure anymore).

"Bro, you're going to wish getting hit was the only punishment you had to endure. Girl cuts on dead people all day—has no mercy for the living."

"You do realize I can hear you, right?" The M.E. angles her head and shoots daggers at Esposito.

"Man Code states that I must warn Castle of any impending danger."

"Does Man Code keep you warm at night, too?"

"You're on your own, dude." The detective settles back in the chair, crosses his arms, and gestures to Lanie. "Proceed." Kate smiles, clearly amused by the back and forth. Esposito lifts a finger off of his elbow and waggles it dramatically. "Don't laugh, Beckett. You've gotta answer, too," he mumbles, cryptically.

Kate sobers a little at that, which he finds interesting. Huh. She was totally cool with throwing him under the bus. Evil.

"Okay, so these are compatibility questions," Lanie starts.

"I'm an Aries. Beckett is a Scorpio." He's proud that he knows that. He won't tell that he went to a website last summer when he was all sulky and mopey and entered their birthdays in these little drop-down boxes to find out what their compatibility was.

It said their love match is hot and heavy (_uh huh_), she's intense and magnetic (_yep_), and they both have a need to be in control, which may cause heated arguments, but make the sex even more worthwhile (_yes, yes, and oh yes_). He never believed any of that stuff and had only been searching for something else to feel pitiful about, but, geez, there are some major accuracies there.

Lanie is just staring at him. _What?_ He didn't say any of that aloud, did he? Then, she rolls her eyes. "Honey, we ain't talking about whether her moon is circling Uranus or any of that crazy planet stuff. This is real life."

"Told ya," Esposito squeaks out.

Okay, he's ready to crawl back under his blankets now. Preferably with Kate. He'll show her some more compatibility…

"Alright, question one," Lanie holds the phone close to her face, squints to read, but after she sees the question, clears her expression. "_What is your financial standing_?"

"Oh, no fair," Esposito grumbles.

"I'm comfortable."

"I'm out of a job."

They answer simultaneously and the tone in the room momentarily shifts at Kate's response. So, yeah, why did he agree to do this again? If he's regretting it after the first question, it doesn't bode well, right?

"I've got savings," Kate lifts her lashes and her lips, stares him down. "You won't have to be my Sugar Daddy for quite a while."

He lets out a laugh on a whoosh of breath, while Lanie says "_You passed_" and scrolls down her phone's screen.

"That's it?" The Latin detective is scowling. "None of our answers were that short."

"That's because you kept getting them wrong. I finally had to grade on a curve."

"Hmph."

"Next. _Do you want kids_?"

Huh. Well.

He's got one.

But, that's not what we're talking about now, and as witty as that answer might be, he doesn't want to have to dig himself out of any holes. He can feel everyone's gaze on him. Why does he have to answer first? "Kate?"

"Go ahead. Answer." Her face is blank, giving nothing away.

"If the biggest argument is over who answers the question first, I'm leaving." Esposito leans forward, waits for his response.

"Shh." Lanie waves Esposito off, but her eyes never leave his own, are boring into his soul, he thinks.

"These questions probably aren't meant to be read in front of other couples, huh?" He's stalling and everyone knows it. This feels like the dream where you're out in public in your underwear and no one breaks eye contact with your crotch. At least his crotch is under the table. Gotta get your wins where you can…

"Would your answer change if we weren't listening?" Lanie is hardcore.

"Touché." He squirms around in his seat. He doesn't recall his dining room chairs being this uncomfortable. "Um." _Deep breaths._ "Yeah. I—If she is their mother, yes."

The poker face in front of him crumbles and she adds "I wouldn't be opposed to it."

Whew. Wow. Babies. Not right now, of course, but…if he's dreaming this, he's going to be royally pissed.

"Passed. Again." Lanie fires a glare at Esposito and he rolls his eyes.

"I wouldn't want to be that syrupy," he defends. "It's a little unnerving."

He should probably be more offended by the knocks at his manliness this morning, but Kate's lips are quirked up blissfully, and he can remember his name rolling off of those lips as she arched against him over and over and over. He's beyond caring about much else right now.

Lanie presses on, clears her throat before asking the next question. "_Would you be willing to go to couple's counseling or therapy, if needed to better your relationship?"_

"Yes." Their answer is quick, easy, and synchronized.

"See? That's not normal."

"They've been doing that for years, baby." She looks pleased and Kate is beaming back at her, proud. Of him? Them? Or maybe because Lanie called Esposito _baby_? Ha. Either way, he's totally passing this. "_Where do you envision yourself living in the future?"_

"Like, city-wise? Or _where_ in the city?" Kate asks the questions, so hopefully she's answering this one first. This is a lot of pressure. They're totally in the groove now, though. Speaking of grooving, she's biting her lower lip again, and he wonders if she knows how crazy that makes him. Last night—right when she was about to—um, yeah—she slipped her kiss-swollen lip between her teeth and he couldn't help it, pulled it away and sucked it into his own mouth.

She throws him a seductively slow blink and, oh yes, she knows exactly what she's doing.

"Either."Lanie. Hmm, probably not a good idea to forget that they're not alone. Even for a few stolen memories worth of time.

"Vague questions deserve vague answers," she replies. "I don't care."

"You're not allowed to answer _I don't care,_" Esposito explains, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

"Why not? Cause I don't really care either. Just somewhere without my mother—that's all I ask." Kate laughs, but kicks him underneath the table and mouths '_Not nice'_ to him. Well… This is all about truths, right?

"I answered _I don't care_ to the baby question, and we argued for an hour."

Lanie gives Esposito the '_are you kidding me'_ stare and Castle sympathizes a little. Kate's eyes are on him when he turns his head and, my God, why aren't they alone again? Her foot is back on him, swirling circles on his shin where she kicked him moments earlier.

"Last question."

"Wait, there are way more than—"

"It's the _last_ question," Lanie growls.

Castle's totally sure he's missing something here, but Kate's still touching him, distracting him. Her toes are now skimming at the bottom of his lounge pants, running up underneath the edge of the fabric. Her feet are cold, but the skin-on-skin contact is still electrifying. If he fails this last question, she'd better come to his defense and admit that she was seducing him with her foot. Oh, that doesn't sound good, so maybe not.

"_How do you keep yourselves sexually engaged?"_

He can do nothing but swallow hard and bite his tongue to suppress his whimper. Doomed, that's what he is. Doomed because he's already completely _sexually engaged_ after one night and can't foresee a future in which he wouldn't want her every single day. Her heel perches between his open thighs on the chair. And there is no way he's talking about sex when that's all he wants to do right now. No. Freaking. Way.

"Dude, this is the easy question."

"I, uh—" He cannot talk about this with an audience. _Performance anxiety_.

"Seriously, Bro?"

"I think this might be one of those questions where the answer _does_ change if you two aren't here." Kate answers first and he just nods because yes, yes that's his answer too. He wants to show her his response while they're alone…on his bed, shower, desk, floor, anywhere and everywhere.

"I think that's our cue." Lanie lifts out of the chair and crowds into Esposito as they head towards the door. Kate uses her foot to push his chair back a little, indicating that they're giving their company a proper send-off. "I'm so glad you're okay, honey." She pulls Kate into a strong hug that warms his (_manly_) heart.

"You hurt my girl, I'll kill you." Lanie moves from Kate to sling an arm around his neck and smack a kiss on his cheek, taking the sting out of her words.

"Duly noted."

"He'll cover it up," she points to Esposito who smiles in agreement as he opens the front door, "and I'll keep your body hidden in my morgue."

"That's morbid. You have nothing to worry about."

"I do know that." She flits her fingers in a wave and pushes Esposito to the elevator. "Call me," she mouths to Kate, who bobs her head yes.

He turns to face her, bumps the door with his hip, satisfied when he hears it click shut. "You are a wicked woman."

"I'm innocent." She strides closer to him; her body grazes his, close, but not pressing.

"Uh huh. A tease is what you are." He reaches forward and fingers a button on his dress shirt, hers now—he'll never be able to wear it again and not be distractedly aroused.

"Tease would imply that I'm not intent on following through on my tormenting."

"And, are you?"

"Tormenting?"

He barks out a laugh. "Following through."

"Ah, that." She rolls her eyes back in thought, then blinks them back to his. "Pretty sure." She finds his mouth, delves in, and threads her tongue through his lips to roll it against his. "You know," she muses at his jaw, pushing him backwards a step until he hits the cool mahogany, "we're right back where we started."

She presses her body against his, slithers against him in all the right places. "Want to finish what we start—where we're starting it—this time?"

"I feel like that question should be totally confusing, but I'm on the same page."

"Ooh, book metaphors. Talking dirty now." He grips her hips, tugs them to his, enjoys the little whimper of pleasure she emits.

She's weaseling her way out of his embrace and his body is coiled so tightly with desire for her that he can't stand it, grasps for her. But, she's sliding down down down his body until she thuds to the floor upon her knees. She leans up and into him and he's gripping her shoulders because nothing else makes sense right now. "Take this off," she's sliding his tee shirt up his chest as far as she can reach from her position.

"Kate—" She bunches the material and stills until he pulls the fabric from her grip and jerks it up and over his head.

"This is what I wanted when I woke up this morning," she whispers, leaning up to press hot, wet kisses along the sensitive skin on the side of his torso. It tickles and he squirms under her mouth. "But, I woke up and you were gone."

She blinks up at him, long lashes lending innocence to her expression, even as she slants back to toy with the drawstrings tied around his middle. She tugs on one and the loose bow dissolves under her touch. She cants in, braces his hips in her palms and slides her tongue along his waistband.

The knock at the door reverberates against his back. He whispers "_no,no,no_" and she breathes "_don't answer it_" at his stomach. Good plan. Not answering it. He cards his fingers through her hair to hold her still. Her lips go back to the sensitive skin beneath his belly button.

Another knock.

"Rick?"

_Is that…?_

"Katie? Are you there?"

_Not again._

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**A/N: Thanks SO much for the outpouring of support for this fic. The reviews are all awesome. I'm not going to mark this Complete just yet. I felt like Jim would be the next at the door, but I've already written a Jim-heavy story, so I think that would be a little repetitive. We'll see.  
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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I** **respond to peer pressure. Obviously. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. As much as I interrupt them, you all should be glad about that.  
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"Oh my God, is that my _dad_?" She groans against the skin of his stomach and feels the muscles jump and twitch beneath her lips.

"Get up, get up, get up," Castle hisses, bending to slide his arms beneath hers and tug her up off the floor.

"Hey, hey," she soothes in a whisper, "calm down." She can't help but laugh a little at the panic-stricken look on his face. Not ideal, maybe, but after all that's happened the last few days, an unexpected visit from her dad isn't the worst that could be happening. Though, she really wanted to… "He's just checking up on me. I'm sure he won't stay long."

"That's not-," he shakes his head, "he can stay as long as he wants."

She loves her dad, but she's got all sorts of things planned with the man freaking out in front of her. "As long as he wants, huh? I'll tell him that. Ask him to spend the day, maybe."

He ignores her jesting, stands with his hands on his hips and toes tapping nervously against the hardwood. "Wait. You've got to take that off," he whispers as she reaches for the door, pointing to her attire with a flailing hand. He leans to step forward, arm outstretched (like, _what_, he's going to help her strip?), but must think better of it. Instead, he paces in a small circles, fingers completely mussing his hair.

"Honey, if I take this off, it'll be way more awkward."

"You're not funny."

Another knock at the door makes him startle.

With unsteady hands, he re-ties the knot on his lounge pants. That's, um, not going to help things.

"_I_ think I am." She bends over and picks up his discarded tee shirt and pushes it into his chest. She reaches up for a too quick kiss—a tug on his lips—before turning back for the door handle. "Go get decent," she commands, voice low. Her eyes roam his body and he drops the shirt below his waist. "And relax." She can feel him glaring, doesn't even need to peek to visualize the tortured expression crossing his face.

He backs out of the room, tee still held low on his body, modestly shielding the evidence of his want—as if she hadn't witnessed him aroused and needy only hours before.

She scrapes a hand through her hair, and pulls open the door. Her dad has a phone held to his ear and drops the hand down to his side when he sees her. He lets out a deep breath and pulls her across the threshold into his arms for one of those embraces that she can never get enough of. "Hi, Daddy." He smells like Old Spice and comfort and home, and she squeezes him tighter before pulling back.

"I've been trying to call you." He doesn't sound agitated, just explanatory and so so worried. "Thank God you're okay."

"I don't even know where my phone is. I'm sorry for scaring you." Where _is_ her phone? The last time she remembers using it was trying to call Castle on her way over here, fearful that his new doorman wouldn't let her past the lobby (A worry for naught. Looking like a drowned rat may have helped her out there.). It's probably in her jacket pocket, or maybe pants pocket—could be water-logged, dead, or crushed from those garments being tossed haphazardly around his bedroom. A concern for later…

His eyes lock into hers, her worry reflecting back at him. He's shaking his head 'no' and she's sure it's to try to ward off the guilt that's clouding her features. She hates when he burdens himself with concern for her wellbeing. "Your friends were trying very hard to reassure me that everything was probably fine, that they believed that, too. I'm not so sure I believed _them. _ When Detective Esposito texted me that you were here and okay, I just needed to see for myself. I'm sorry; I know it's early."

"Ah, if the sun's up, it's not too early for me. You know that, Dad." She gives him a reassuring smile. "Come in, come in."

She pulls him by the elbow until he follows her into Castle's living room. He sheds his jacket and she indicates for him to drape it across one of the arm chairs. He does, then sits in its twin and clasps his hands onto his knees and sighs. She tucks a leg beneath her as she plops back onto the sofa. "You look good, Katie."

Good, huh? Her hair is a little crazy; she hasn't seen a mirror yet this morning, but can feel how untamed it is from the rain, air-drying, and Castle's fingers. Most of her make-up has been sluiced away, and what wasn't is surely smeared and smudged. And she's certainly not wearing anything flattering. She's in Castle's clothes, and oh, she sees that quick dawn of realization upon her father's face—he's just noticing her loose, masculine garb.

"Happy," he clarifies. "Unburdened?" It's obvious that he's being wholly sincere, but may be fishing a little, too. Oh, does she really want to have the _'What's going on with you and Castle?'_ conversation again? Her dad's just as meddlesome as Lanie (she pardons them both in the name of love), but a little less gossipy and a whole lot sneakier. "How's Rick? Where is he, by the way?"

It's totally not fair to Castle to be talking about their love life with everyone _except _him. No, she's making a stand. "I'm not sure where he is, exactly." _Not a lie, really_.

"So, he gets to sleep in, huh?" He grins. "I hope all of my knocking didn't wake him."

"He's a pretty heavy sleeper." Where the hell did that come from? That doesn't scream _"I didn't sleep naked next to my partner last night" _very well. "Um, when I call early for a case, it takes him forever to pick up."

"I see."

Not very convincing. "Alexis says he can sleep through anything."

"Alexis." He nods, purses his lips in thought. "Right." He doesn't _sound_ like he doesn't believe her, but that's what lets her know that he _so_ doesn't believe her. _See? Sneaky._

"Do you stay here often?"

So now we go from beating around the bush to plowing right through it?

"Just last night." God, that makes it sound so sordid. Fix that. "It was a pretty bad storm last night. I got caught in it." He winces in sympathy. "So, I just borrowed some clothes and hung out here."

She spots Castle leaning against the bookshelf; he meets her eyes and smiles, but there's some veiled hurt there. Because of what she told (_or didn't, rather_) her dad? She's not hiding this; she thought _he_ was the one uncomfortable with her dad being here, even _suspecting_ something intimate was going on. Damn, why is this so difficult?

He mouths _"Do you want me to—"_ and points back into his room, indicating that he'd be fine with hiding out in there a little longer. No, geez, if they're going to do this, they're going to _do_ this.

She hears her dad say _"I'm glad Rick could be here for you"_ and she finds herself nodding.

Her father catches that her attention is elsewhere and half-turns to where Rick is standing. "Speak of the devil. Morning." He stands from his chair and he and Castle meet each other halfway, give a hearty shake of hands. "I hope we didn't wake you."

"Ah, no sir." He looks nervous and shifty. It's cute. But, she can tell he has no clue what she's fibbed about (_circled around the truth_), therefore no clue what he's permitted to say. Oh, Castle. She'll make it easy.

"Actually, Lanie and Esposito stopping by woke Castle earlier. And Castle crawling out of bed woke me."

_There._

Her dad raises an eyebrow, though not disparaging. Good, good. But, Castle emits this screeching choked noise and takes an exaggerated step away, as if he's expecting a physical blow to follow up the verbal one she just hurled out there. Okay, so _her_ part was smooth, at least. He looks at her with wide eyes and she shrugs.

"We already had breakfast, Daddy, but I can get you some toast or something, if you'd like."

"No, no. I'm meeting a friend for brunch later. Coffee?"

"Coffee sounds great, actually," she responds, lifting herself off of the couch, stiff in places good and bad.

"I'll make it," Castle interrupts, shoos her back towards the sofa.

"No, no. Sit. Catch up," she smiles. _You were hurt. I fixed it. You deal with it for a little bit._ She bumps him with her hip on her way to the kitchen.

**0000000000000000000**

She hates him. Yep. That's the only explanation he can come up with. She announces to her dad they were in bed together this morning, then high-tails it into the kitchen. His heart sank at Kate hiding him—them—from her dad, the one person whose opinion probably means the most to her. He, too, thought it might be the easier route for this morning, but it felt hollow hearing it. Although, tackling the '_my-thoughts-aren't-pure-when-your-daughter-is-in-my-presence'_ conversation doesn't seem too appealing either.

He wonders if Kate needs help with the coffee…

"I told Katie that she looks happy." Jim breaks the silence, and for some reason it doesn't seem as awkward as it should. "I have a feeling you can take some of the credit for that."

"I don't know about that."

"I do." Well, he doesn't act like he wants to punch, maim, or otherwise harm him in any way. _Win._ "I've seen her smile more in the last four years than the ten before that combined. I think you're the difference, Rick."

"I appreciate that. Though, some of those smiles were probably because she was ruminating on creative, ingenious ways to murder me and get away with it." He releases a lungful of air and the leather of his couch creaks as his body relaxes some. This isn't going so badly.

Jim chuckles. "Whatever it takes, right?"

"Whatever it takes," he agrees.

"It seems a little clichéd to ask what your intentions are with my daughter." He folds his hands together and has the courtesy to appear uncomfortable for the upcoming line of questioning.

"Ah, most essential things in life are cliché. They're overused and excessively familiar for a reason. Because they're important." That sounds good, he thinks, but it helps that he truly believes it. "As a writer, it's my job to avoid them. As a father, I'm totally feeling where you're coming from. Lay it on me."

"What are your intentions with my daughter?" He asks with a deep, serious voice, then barks out a laugh and waves his hand, absolving Castle from replying. "You don't really have to answer. Or feel obligated to outline your future plans for me. Hell, you can tell me to mind my business anytime here, Rick. I just wondered how serious this is."

"I'm all in." The words come effortlessly. He doesn't know how to stifle his feelings for Kate. He's accustomed to most people using subtext and conjecture—not being guileless and direct—when enquiring on their relationship. Past hinted inferences have left him open to using humor and innuendo in reference to their status, but an honest question deserves a forthright answer. "She makes me crazy and vulnerable, makes me believe in the impossible, makes me feel like I've never felt before. She makes me think outside of the box, but color inside of the lines—makes me different and better in all of the ways it counts. And I want her all the time."

"Wow."

"I—I don't mean 'want her' like _want _her, well—that too. I shouldn't have said that—ignore that part." He closes his eyes. So much for this going well. "I want her _with_ me. All the time."

"It's okay." He's so laughing _at_ him this time. Geez. "I completely understand."

He can't shut up. Means to, but this feels so liberating. He just wants someone to understand how much he loves her. "When she's not with me, my only goal is to figure out how to remedy that, preferably as soon as possible."

"That's love, son."

Yes.

Yes.

It is.

"It is," he agrees. "It's never been like this before. For me. I never knew I would be willing to give my life for someone I didn't share blood with."

"Pray it never comes to that." Jim leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath. "Last summer, you were one step away from killing my daughter." Castle flinches. "Losing you to that bullet would have ended her, Rick."

"I would have rather it been me."

"That's because you're selfish. But we all are. It makes us human. There's not a day goes by that I don't wish my wife was still here. But don't confuse loving with sacrificing."

"How do you differentiate?"

"Put yourself in the other person's shoes. Walk around in them. How did you feel when my daughter was shot?"

His stomach clenches, memories claw at his mind. "Devastated." Completely and utterly destroyed.

"Would you want her to feel that way?"

No. Never.

"I get it." So, this is what it's like to have a father? A wealth of awesome, insightful advice. Someone who looks at things from every angle and straight-shoots, tells you like it is. He loves it. Loves her. Hell, loves _him_. And maybe one day, Jim can be- "I want to marry your daughter," he blurts.

For all his credit, he doesn't look shocked. "As much as I'd love to betroth you, you might want to ask her first." His lips turn-up, contentment covers his face, a nice reprieve from the solemnity. "Independent woman and all."

"I'm not sure where that came from." He presses the pads of his thumbs into his eye sockets, staving off a self-imposed headache.

"From your heart. Are you asking for my consent?"

"No! Not that I don't want your consent. I'm just not asking. But, I would ask," he rambles. "I do—want to. Marry her, I mean. But, we haven't even been on a date yet." He shifts on the couch, crosses his legs and fingers at the cuff of his lounge pants. "She would kill me for this conversation."

"What conversation?" She saunters back into the room, perilously holding three mugs of coffee. Her dad stands and takes his with a smile of thanks. Castle unfurls his legs and goes to stand, but she moves in between his knees, bends a little to hand him his mug. She looks like a seductress ready to crawl into his lap, and he suspects most of that is on purpose. She cants in a little more, lips at his ear. "What would I kill you for?"

"Not telling," he yelps, not sure whether it's from her '_I-have-so-many-ways-I-can-make-you-pay'_ voice or the hot coffee sloshing on his hand.

She drops to the sofa, presses into his side. He figures she miscalculated her 'safe distance from Castle ratio' and would scootch over any minute, but she doesn't. He moves his coffee to the opposite hand and licks at the liquid and sensitized flesh beneath it.

"Dad?" Oh, she uses that sly face and lip-bite on her dad too? What a sneaky woman.

"Don't look at me." Ha, he's totally on his side.

She huffs, then elbows him in the side when he expresses his amusement. "I'm not sure I'm going to like you two ganging up on me like this." Oh, she loves it, he can tell. God, he wants to kiss her. He's not so sure she'd be cool with that, though. A little bonding only goes so far.

"Too bad. Good coffee." Jim raises his mug in indication before taking another sip.

"Yes, Castle has refined tastes. Thinks his palate is too sophisticated for the normal stuff. Has me thinking the same thing now, too." She rolls her eyes.

"Sometimes it's nice to be spoiled a little," her dad suggests. "Maybe you could do some things for yourself now that you're—off work."

"I resigned. You can say that. If I'm okay with it, everyone else should be," she looks at Castle pointedly.

"Hey, I'm just saying that you should take a little time to think it through."

"I might. But, for now, I'm content." She grins at him, eyes sparkling. He's startled when she takes his mouth, coaxes his lips open and touches her tongue to his for a split second. He drifts into her (he can't help it) and she pulls back with a pop and wide-eyes. And, oh yeah, he's pretty sure she surprised herself too.

"Look at the time." Jim, not-so-subtly, lifts from the chair, stares steadily at his watch for longer than necessary. He probably thinks they're going to make-out again.

Yeah, the making-out thing isn't a bad idea. But, he can totally wait. Maybe. Um, but probably not if she keeps running her fingers along the seam of her mouth like that. He turns back towards her father, currently the safer option.

"Do you have to leave so soon? I didn't even get to hear any embarrassing stories from Kate's wild youth. You mustn't go," he states, exaggeratedly.

"I _do_ have plenty of those." Kate gets up, moves to her dad and gives him a threatening pose before wrapping her arms around his waist. "But, I need to go home and change before my brunch date."

"If you're sure," Castle gives him an out. Her dad nods and unwraps an arm from around his daughter before offering it to him. When Jim takes his hand, he tugs him into a quick hug instead of the handshake he was expecting. "Come to dinner tonight." He looks like he may decline, so Castle adds an "I insist" to the invite.

"I will, then. That, actually, sounds really nice." He kisses Kate on the cheek before heading towards the door. "Maybe I'll even bring some photo albums," he mock-whispers in Castle's direction.

"You're uninvited." Kate points to her dad who smiles wide and shrewdly.

She pouts at him when he shows his eagerness and excitement, but slides into the cradle of his arm when he, too, moves to see her father out.

"Six work for you?" That's ten hours of Kate. He'll have to make do with that.

"Sounds great. Do you need me to bring anything?

"Just yourself. And that incriminating evidence." He winks. Kate pinches his side and when he lets out a 'yowl' she slides her cold hands up the back of his shirt and sooths the site with her fingers. Oh, she's playing dangerous before her dad even gets out the door.

"Of course. I'll see you both tonight."

Jim gets several steps out—and Castle nearly gets the door shut—before he turns around. "Oh, and Rick?"

"Sir?"

"That thing she's going to kill you for talking about…"

"Yeah?"

He steps into the elevator and presses a button. "_My_ answer's yes."

**A/N: Feedback?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter is M-rated. I think this is the first time I've written Martha (if I have previously, it was so horrible of an experience that I blocked it from my mind). I'd love some feedback on that. Writing different characters takes me out of my comfort zone. I like my comfort zone. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Pout.  
**

**00000000000000000000  
**

"So, you and my dad seemed pretty chummy." Castle's got this luminous, dazed smile covering his face when he closes the door.

Her dad has never warmed up to any man she's ever dated. He's not malicious or rude—just distant, silently disapproving. She thought that it had something to do with the fact that she was his baby, his only daughter. But, she considers now that he's just super insightful, knows her better than she knows herself (she's never telling him this). The thing with Castle—this is it—and she suspects her dad recognizes that too.

"Uh huh." He walks back to the sofa, bounces down on it casually and picks up his mug to take a long gulp of coffee.

"Wanna tell me now what you two were talking about?" She tries on a sugary voice, with enough erotic undertones to force his eyes to hers lazily.

"Nope."

"Castle," she whines. She's trying for adorably persuasive, but he seems unfazed. Huh. "Wait. Was it about our sex life?"

He blurts out a chuckle. "God, no. That's seriously where you go first?" He's looking at her like she's crazy, but she thought it was a good guess. "Give me a little credit, Beckett. I'm not talking to your dad about—just, no."

"Well, you said I'd kill you. _That _ might do it." She grins as she sidles over to him, nudges his legs open and rests a knee on the cushion between his, balancing above him with a hand near his shoulder.

"Can we use the term "sex life" when we've only done it once?" He looks so serious, like he's _actually_ contemplating the semantics of this.

_What?_

"_Really?_ What would you call it?" She traces a finger through the crinkles near his eye, skims down his cheek, to his lips, where her fingers linger. "Enlighten me, my illustrious wordsmith."

"Ooh, say that again." His lips purse into a kiss at her fingers, and his pupils dilate as he stares up at her, amusement not able to conceal the arousal there.

Oh, that does it for him, huh?

"You like that?"

"Yeah," he breathes. She's still hovering over him and slowly lowers to straddle one of his thighs, closes her eyes at the lovely pressure of his muscles flexing between her legs. "I like _you_," he amends, tugging on her hips.

"You up for proving that?" The stubble crossing his jaw is calling to her; she licks at it, sucks a new spot after each scrape of her tongue.

"I'm definitely getting there."

Yeah, yeah. He is.

He grunts when her knee slides higher into the v of his legs. He stretches the limbs out low enough to jerk hers over so she bestrides his hips fully. "Wanna go-?" She tilts her head towards his bedroom, letting the gesture finish her question. She's starting to pant a little and they're not even naked yet. She's hopeless.

"How about we stay right here?"

She's not sure why the thought of riding him right here on his living room couch seems so dirty, sexy, and oh-so-appealing, but it's making her tingly and needy. She can hear the pounding, staccato pulse in her ears, feel it in her fingers and toes—and overwhelmingly between her legs.

Their kiss is wet and sloppy and deeply intense. She can't get close enough, fast enough. If making love once has her craving him this keenly, how is she going to cope daily? Ridiculous thoughts of booty calls, indecent exposure charges, and public embarrassment flash though her mind. On her bubble of laughter, his tongue grazes the roof of her mouth, flicks against her teeth. She captures the roving muscle with her lips and angles her head and flattens her own tongue against his, fights for control of the kiss.

He pulls back for a deep breath, then crashes his mouth to her neck, nudging aside the collar of his dress shirt. She wants it _off_. She unbuttons her buttons with frustratingly shaky hands, enjoying his lips' decent as each one unfastens.

"Commencement," he mumbles against the swell of her breast.

"What?" She tugs lightly on a fist-full of his hair.

"Commencement sex. That's what we call it." Off of her look, "No? Inaugural sex? No, no—that sounds too presidential—you'll have all of these '_most powerful man in the free world'_ expectations that I'd have to try to live up to. Hmm." His tongue laves against her nipple, and _how the hell is he having a casual conversation right now?_

"How about we maybe do it again so we don't have to worry about what to call it?"

"Yes. Or, we could do that. Exceptional idea." He chokes on the last word when her fingers skate to the opening in his lounge pants, manipulate the slit in the fabric until he's exposed, hard and hot in her palm. Roving hands tug at the boxers she's wearing until she can shimmy on his lap enough to remove them. He looks impressed, and she's not sure if it's her mad undressing skills or the way she's stroking the full length of him.

She releases him—leaving a whimper in her wake—to jerk his tee shirt off. The more she looks at him, his delectably tousled hair, unyielding gaze, obvious need, the more she wants to tell him how much she regrets not being ready for this sooner.

Her hips roll forward, brush against him—the only act of contrition she can manage right now, when words fail her. "Off," she manages to croak out, and he doesn't need further explanation, as he tucks himself back into his pants and raises his hips to slide them down.

"Your legs are so long." His hands slide from her hips to her bent knees—where they bite into his thighs. The fingers trek back down to her calves, then ankles, the last thing he can reach. A tug on the boney flesh there propels her legs higher up his waist and opens her further to him and, _oh_, the thick press of him right _there_ is staggering, her body still not accustomed to the blissful intrusion.

A tinny pattering on the window signifies the beginnings of rain again. She bows into him; that long arch of pleasure the initial movement that sparks their lovemaking. The fresh storm sets their tempo; quick streams ping and echo in the open room, a pace that is mimicked by the fevered beginnings of their coupling. She coils tightly against him, subdues their movements, urging him to let her govern the process this time.

"I'm never going to witness a storm again without wanting you." God, his voice is rough and raspy, as sex and want roll off his tongue. "You know that?"

"Mmhmm."

"Did I tell you how sexy it is that you're wearing my shirt?" She looks down at the only item of clothing amongst them. She wouldn't use the term _wearing_, exactly—the garment is hanging completely open, allowing only her shoulders, arms, and back any morsel of modesty. Her breasts are openly swaying between them, peaked nipples speaking to her state of arousal.

She sighs, exasperated, amused, and completely turned-on. "You weren't so chatty the first time we did this."

He hums an affirmative. "I was studying," he mutters as explanation. He's staring at her, his gaze penetrating, and it would be unnerving if it were anyone but him. He slides both hands up to finger her hair behind her ears, such an innocent gesture—a stark contradiction to the not-so-innocent rocking of their pelvises.

"Studying, huh?"

"You," he says, seriously. "What you enjoy. How you like to be touched. I wanted it to be special. Pleasurable."

"It was. _Is_." She shifts her knees up, pushes their connection even closer, can feel him slide deeper. His head falls to the back of the sofa, eyes screw shut as he bites back a groan. "So, you're done studying?" She teases.

"Never." His lids flutter open. "But, you're kind of in control here."

"So, should I be studying you, then?" She presses a quick kiss to his lips, leans back before he can deepen it. "What you like," she repeats his words. She grinds into him a little harder and his teeth grip his lower lip, pleasurable agony crossing over his face. "How you like to be touched?" She runs her fingers across his hard-thumping heart, over his ribs, down his belly, until they skitter to where they're joined. His hips jerk violently and she loses control of her own tormenting, keens sharply at the sensations they're creating. She glides both hands back to his shoulders, clawing at his flesh—her anchor, leverage—as she bounces over him again.

"_Jesus."_

"I'm so close, Castle." The grip he has on her hips tightens, but he uses it to slow her down, even out the motions into a gentle, steady rhythm. "No," she whines, but goes with it because, yes yes, that feels so good, too. She's not too proud to share the reins with him.

When he trusts her not to resort back to the frenetic pace, he loosens his hold on her and runs his hands everywhere. She can't concentrate, just wants to melt into him. It's too tender and she's _not_ going to cry, but yeah, she might. Never has it been like this, with the emotional spurring on the physical, all these layers of beautiful feelings. She can't collate them into words.

"I love you, Kate."

Yes, that's them. The words.

This is the first time he's said it outside of the threat of death. He spoke them over her dying body, anguish in his eyes, and then again while begging her not to cause him anymore of that same grief.

He's watching her with concern, and she rubs at the furrowed skin between his eyebrows. "If saying that makes you uncomfortable, I can stop," he whispers.

No. _No._

"Castle, I-"

"Richard!" There's a loud thump on the door and the distinctive sound of his mother's voice filters through the thick wood. Seconds later, she hears his phone ringing in another room, a vaguely familiar show tune. "Richard, I don't have my key."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he protests.

She makes a move to disengage their bodies and he holds her tightly against him, pushes back into her, a long slide from the distance she created. "No," he says on a gasp.

"Your mom is right out there, Castle. We can't do this." Her body is defying her, desperately trying to catch hold of the imminent wave of pleasure that's taunting her, holding her hostage.

"We're already doing this." Oh, God. Yes, and they're doing it _so_ well, too. But, no no. He wraps his arms around her back and pulls her closer. "Just close your eyes and think about what, exactly, we're doing." His mother's voice floats around them again and she flinches. "And ignore that," he laughs and she groans, but obeys him—closes her eyes and listens to him talk, feels the sweet slide of him between her legs. "Think about how long I've wanted you, wanted to be inside you," he whispers into her ear and she feels the flames licking at her nerve endings. "And now I am." He slips his lips around her earlobe, and that's enough.

"I'm—" She bites firmly into his shoulder to stifle the obscene noises she wants to be making. An apology is on the tip of her tongue, but she can't even breathe now, concentrate on anything but the hard, seizing clench of her muscles.

"Yes, Kate." He holds her still, and it's almost too too too much when he drives up where she's most sensitive in a series of short, fierce thrusts that have him spilling into her. He liquefies back into the sofa, all soft, too relaxed limbs, and he lures her down with him.

The show tune starts again, followed up with a less aggressive knock.

She lifts off of him and he lets her go this time, but keeps their fingers linked until she has to break the contact to reach for his clothes to slip back into. "You can't keep ignoring her," she points out, voice soft.

"I've been doing it for years," he quips. She flings his lounge pants at him, while he slides on his tee shirt. She watches him stand and tug his pants up while she buttons the shirt she's wearing. "Coming," he shouts over his shoulder.

She's halfway to his office door when she stops on her name. "Yeah?"

"You're leaving me?"

"I'm migrating," she corrects. When he frowns, she clarifies "I'm not staying out here. I _cannot _look your mom in the eye after we just had sex on furniture that she probably sits on."

"It's my furniture. She lives here free room and board. We can christen whatever we want in here—it's _mine_." That idea—while a little petulant on his part—doesn't sound wholly unappealing. He must see that in her eyes because some smugness sparks in his. "How long are you hiding?"

"I'm not _hiding_." Yeah, she is. "Until she leaves," she admits.

"What if she-?"

"Just…go!" He's going to talk her into facing his mother all flushed and disheveled and embarrassed out of her mind. And, no she's not. She gestures towards the door and disappears from the room.

**00000000000000000000**

"I thought you were going to the Hamptons?" He opens the door (yeah, he's tired of _that_ already today), and Martha enters the loft, a whirlwind of flourish and fanfare, as always.

"I was." She picks up her forgotten keys off a table in the foyer and jingles them excitedly in front of his face before tossing them into her purse.

"But?"

"But Alexis thinks you're depressed and need a family day." She waves a hand in the air flamboyantly, moves into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of orange juice. He shakes his head 'no' when she shakes the carafe in an offer to get him a glass too. "But, I didn't tell you that. Our little secret."

He smiles affectionately. Alexis could tell something outside of her graduating was eating away at him. He didn't want to worry her, but it looks like it may be a little late for that. "So, you came all the way back to town?" That's kinda sweet.

"I hadn't left the city. But, never you mind that, dear," she instructs, conspiratorially.

Noticing that she's wearing the same clothes that he saw her in last night, he flashes her an _'ew' _face. "Stop right there. I don't want any details."

"I wasn't going to share," she huffs. "You're just jealous because your old mother is having more fun than her young, handsome son."

Oh, he'd love to comment on that, but Kate would kill him. "Yes. That's it, exactly."

When he meets her eyes, he notices she's scrutinizing him. A bit of panic flurries through him and he mentally checks that he's fully dressed, there are no stray clothes scattered around the loft, and he hasn't said anything incriminating. Nope. All's good. He's not great at the whole keeping-a-secret thing. "You don't_ look_ depressed, Richard."

"Because I'm _not_," he grouses. "Call Alexis and tell her I'm fine. To have fun with her friends. Stay another night if she wants." He reaches for the cordless phone and extends it to his mother. "Then, you go to the Hamptons. Take a…friend. Stay out of the master bedroom, though." He thrusts the phone at her.

She takes it and immediately places it on the bar behind her. "Why aren't you pouting?"

"I don't pout."

"You most certainly do. You're all by yourself, which you hate. And your little girl just graduated." She props herself on the corner of a stool and crosses her arms. "_'Stay another night'? _Really? Darling, what are you hiding?"

"I'm not—hiding? What do you mean? I'm not. Nothing. _Nothing._" He shakes his head, a little extra emphasis. And…she's laughing at him. Oh, this isn't good.

"You _are_ hiding something. Someone?" She drawls the word out, comically. She's fishing and he's totally taking the bait, he knows. He can't school his features, especially with his mother. She has this uncanny ability to know when he's bullshitting. "Oooh. It _is_ a some_one_."

"Mother," he warns.

"I know, I know. Mind my business." "But-" She grabs his hand when he rolls his eyes. "I'm a little concerned. Bringing a woman here? To spend the night." She cringes. "You don't do that. You haven't done that since—well, you _married_ the last one."

"I know." He'll marry this one too. _Third time's a charm._

"Do you think that's a good idea?" That's rhetorical, he assumes, keeps his mouth shut. She squeezes his hand. "If you're fighting with Beckett, you may be emotionally compromised."

"I'm definitely emotionally compromised," he agrees.

"Does this woman know you're in love with someone?"

"She does." He smiles a little because he's _not_ lying about anything and all of his answers are falling into place, carrying a deeper meaning and cloaking his little secret. This is fun.

"And she's okay with that?" She looks skeptical. Or disapproving.

"We were talking about that when you started beating the door down."

"Of course she's not okay with that, Richard. No self-respecting woman _would _be."

"It's…complicated." So, not so fun anymore. He wants to tell. Won't. But, if his mother is still around tonight when Kate's father comes for dinner, well, it's kind of a moot point, right? Okay, he still won't say anything.

"There's a reason you gave up the whole playboy persona thing, Kiddo. Well, besides your favored member of the NYPD. _You suck at it_." He's pretty sure he should take offense to this. But, he just rolls his eyes, doesn't care.

"You think too much with _this_-," she pokes him in the center of his chest, over his heart. "—to pretend like _that—,"_ she waves her hand at his groin and he takes a giant step back, "controls you."

"Thank you?" He does love that she doesn't pull punches. But, he wants to go hide with Kate now.

"It _is_ a compliment, my boy. But, it's only proof that you're going to break this poor girl's heart."

"Or she might break mine," he muses.

"She won't break yours." Kate's resolute voice floats to his ears and before he can turn around, he sees his mother's wide eyes; she's shocked into silence. _That never happens._

Kate moves to his side, wearing his robe now (check another fantasy off the list), but still looks a little shy, hesitant. He totally knows the feeling, sympathizes. But, this is awesome.

"You're the—you're the other woman?" Martha points towards the bedroom, then drops her hand and laughs heartily, as if she should have known all along.

"The only woman, mother. She's the only woman."

**A/N: Feedback? ****I've got thick skin. **Are we still going with this or is it getting redundant?  



End file.
